


Opposites

by yourdeadfriend



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, Rival Relationship, Rivalmance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourdeadfriend/pseuds/yourdeadfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mighty warrior Hawke and the spirit healing mage Anders do not get along, at all. That doesn't stop Anders from falling for him. Is it too much to ask for a glimmer of hope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hawke hated Anders.

Judging by the way Hawke sneered down at him, wrinkled his nose in disgust and annoyance when Anders began talk of mage’s rights and publicly making him look like an utter fool, Anders could not come to any other conclusion. He hadn’t done anything to warrant the brutal treatment Hawke dished out at him on a daily basis.

Hawke came to Anders’ clinic, came far out of his way and stood there right in the middle until Anders paid him attention. Sometimes he would never say anything, just be in the way. When that happened, an inordinate amount of pressure mounted on Anders’ back. His hands felt shaky, he was always about to slip while patching up children, he was one syllable away from setting a poor woman on fire. Other times, Hawke would slowly follow Anders around, scrutinising with every glance. He didn’t have to say anything to make Anders know he was worth nothing in his ‘companion’s’ eyes.

His admittedly breath-taking brown eyes were more cruel than mischievous around Anders. When he smiled around him, it was never benevolent and always filled with mirth. He rubbed Anders’ shortcomings in his face, picking at all of his scabs.

Justice could not understand why Anders took the abuse. There was always a pathetic reason given from his host; I can’t do anything because he would probably expose us, it really isn’t all that bad, he’s probably having such a hard time with both of his siblings gone, I think I’m in love with him, he’s under a lot of stress right now, it’s natural to be so angry. Anders was so stubborn against taking action against the Hawke man Justice had given up on the cause, letting the constant torture be his punishment along with migraines every now and then.

Hawke and Fenris shared smirks at Anders’ expense. Too many times the two were sitting together in The Hanged Man, muttering to each other a little too loudly, heaving out boisterous laughter. Anders hated the lyrium branded elf with all the fury in his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to muster up enough flames to harbour a hatred for Hawke. This was even more frustrating and confusing than Hawke’s behaviour. He was certain Hawke and Fenris were interested in each other, the way himself and Karl were interested with each other. A hot, clawed evil thing crawled around in Anders’ throat when he saw the two together, getting along, being the best of bloody friends. The creature made Anders want to spit bile, poison, made him turn green. He was jealous. He was envious. Hate, hate, hate was all he could do and he couldn’t even do that to the ebony haired bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke was at the door of the clinic. He knocked once to make his presence known then pushed it open. He strode in, Merrill and Fenris at his heels. Fenris looked more than displeased to be there. Merrill took it upon her to play with the waiting children while Hawke did his business.

The night before, Anders had been too late to save a patient that was hurriedly rushed in. Something violent had happened to the young boy, something unexplainable and uncommon, even for Darktown. He had seen many crushed and mangled bodies in his time, but the boy’s lifeless eyes were haunting him. Maybe it was because his sister and brother were standing over him, refusing to let their tears and weakness show through. Maybe it was because their mother was kneeled before him, cradling the boy and sobbing. It could have been that he heard the mother utter the phrase he’s heard too many times in his life – “This was all your fault” – yet he couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or the boy who lost his brother. When he got up that morning and set the clinic up, he didn’t see any blood on the tables or on the floor when it was gushing so freely before. Maybe he was so disturbed because he didn’t know whether or not it was a dream.

“Hey,” Hawke said sharply, shocking Anders out of his fog with a shudder. Anders turned to look at him. He could see that the other man paused for a moment taking in Anders’ appearance. He was sure he looked a frightful mess. 

As if he had never stopped, Hawke continued. “If you’re quite done day dreaming of your lost cause, we have a job to do. Unfortunately, it includes you.” 

Anders blinked pathetically. It was sad that he was used to the jabs. “What is it? I don’t know why you would need a mage. Merrill is perfectly capable.” The sound of metal hitting a hardened dirt floor jolted the two of them. Merrill had knocked over a canister.

“Sorry! I’ll clean it right up. Oh, what a mess I’ve made…”

“Right, I’ll come.” Anders turned to go into the back to retrieve his staff. He nearly tripped over a stacked pile of manifesto notes on his way in and out. When he came out, Merrill had finished cleaning her mess. Fenris and Hawke were smiling together. Anders sneered.

“Let’s go.” Anders was deadpan. For some reason, the other men’s smirks grew. 

They departed, leaving Darktown through the crickety elevator shaft. They passed through Lowtown, up in through Hightown and kept going. Anders frowned.

“Hawke, where are we going? You never explained what the mission was.”

To his surprise, Fenris spoke. “Yes, Hawke, for once the mage is right.”

“Abelas, I am sorry!” Merrill spoke quickly before Hawke could open his mouth. “I… have asked Hawke for a favour. I hope you two do not mind coming along. It would be very hard going on my own, you see, and it is always better to travel in a pack.” Chipper, she added, “We’re just like little wolves.”

Fenris was noticeably and physically disgusted with his fellow elf.

“We’re headed towards the Dalish camp,” Hawke stated. “Merrill has some sorts of arts and crafts project she needs Marethari’s approval on, some swill like that.” Merrill smiled widely, but as she realised what Hawke had actually said, it faded.

“I need the last shard of the Eluvian,” she corrected him gingerly. “The Keeper has it, and we must get it back from her.”

“Yes, Merrill,” Hawke waved back at her absently. Anders almost snickered. Poor girl. He kept a small smile to himself out of courtesy. 

They trekked onwards, keeping their conversation light. Soon, the Dalish camp was in their sights. Keeping their eyes open for any sort of attackers (Sundermount was infamous for giant poisonous spiders) they entered the camp and quickly sought out Marethari. In exchange for the shard the Keeper held, they were assigned the task of eliminating the Varterral.

Merrill was shaken and a wee bit nervous. Hawke, Fenris and Anders shared brief glances, silently telling each other ‘We can do this, it’s probably just a giant hungry bear’. The trek up to the cave took a lot out of them. They were attacked by groups of monsters with each level they climbed. When they reached the mouth of the cave, Hawke announced a ten minute breather.

“Stretch or lay on your belly, whatever it is you do,” Hawke said, plopping himself promptly on the grass. Fenris preferred to stay standing. Merrill laid back in the grass, appreciative of the short rest but chewing her lip in anxiety. 

Anders sat down and watched Hawke. Merrill and Hawke were discussing something quietly, but Merrill wasn’t tearing up or looking angry. She began to relax while Hawke talked to her although his expression was cold. This man, Anders had decided long ago, was an enigma. Somehow, he could take the firm and structured beliefs of the mages who travelled with him, crush them into a million fragments and still have them willingly be his companion.


	3. Chapter 3

They left the Varterral’s lair, some coin richer, the creature’s bloody heart stowed in Hawke’s pack. So tired, so tired, yearning to be home to take wonderful warm baths of any sort, weary of the day and their tasks and so thankful it was over and done with until the skeletons, the bloody undead rose as they passed, attacking them with arrows and swords. Hawke opened his mouth to bark out orders, but it was not needed. Everyone was in their fighting position – the warriors to the front, the mages to the back.

The frost horror rose from the ground, striking at the party, wanting blood. Hawke and Fenris ignored the skeletons, they were weak and wouldn’t do much damage, if they got rid of the frost horror then everything else would be easy to slay.

Merrill was doing well to keep the other adversaries at bay, working her magic quite literally. Fenris lay the final blow on the frost horror and as the two readied their swords, Hawke’s eye caught the corner of the lit cavern. 

Anders brandished his staff, but he was cornered by the enemy they didn’t know they had. The living dead brandished a two handed sword, using the pommel to his advantage. Anders wasn’t strong enough to take it down on his own; it and some other skeletons had him cornered. His frost spells stopped them in time for a while, but his mana resources were running low. His potion stock was depleted from the Varterral.

The ice cracked on the lead skeleton, he moved quickly and slashed out. Anders grunted, “Ughn!” His hand flew to clutch his wound. He swayed. His eyes flew around, and he thought, “Don’t hate me enough to leave me for dead.” His eyes met Hawke’s; fear collided.

Anders tried to mutter a spell but the skeleton warrior struck again, slashing his torso. His staff slipped out of his grasp and clattered on the floor, mere wood. Robes are hardly armour, he always said, but leather and feathers wasn’t all that strong either. Fenris was attacking the lesser skeletons; Merrill spread her spells everywhere to help everyone.  
Anders fell, his fingers stained with his blood, crimson gushing through the spaces. He heard a, “NO,” the kind that made your own throat hoarse just by hearing it, which echoed off the walls, steel clashed together as Hawke ran, bolted to Anders’ defence.

“NOT HIM! NOT HIM! NOT HIM!” 

As the sound of bones clattered to the floor and the echoes of Hawke’s voice got louder and frenzied, they faded at the same time and Anders closed his eyes, wanting very badly to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but only so it flows better with the next part.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is fantastically long. And drastically syrupy.

Anders woke up somewhere completely unfamiliar. It was soft, it smelled pleasant. He wasn’t in Darktown, that was for sure. His head lolled to the side on the pillow. He blinked. A fire was burning in a fireplace to his right. It was warm and lovely, it felt like home. Aside from the sharp throbbing in his middle, of course. 

He heard murmurs, footsteps coming up what sounded like stairs. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. The mutterings sounded clearer as the two people approached the door.

“…be so hard on yourself, Serrah Hawke.” A gentle, yet jovial voice.

“I wasn’t vigilant enough, Bodahn. It’s my fault he’s in there, that he hasn’t woken up yet.” Hawke’s voice was strange to hear when it wasn’t so violent sounding. It was strangely… sad. Anders frowned, keeping his eyes shut.

There was a beat, and then Bodahn asked, “Shall I have Sandal bring up the usual meals today, Serrah?”

“Yes. I don’t plan on leaving the bedroom…” A hand on the doorknob, it clicked and turned. Hawke walked into his bedroom. He pulled up his desk chair to the side of the bed and sat. A heavy sigh. 

Anders shifted slightly, but heard no reaction from Hawke. Pages flipped nonchalantly and the chair creaked. He was scared to open his eyes. What would happen? Hawke was likely keeping him here for the sake of convenience. He was preparing himself for Hawke calling a life or a monetary debt when he heard Hawke shut his book. Another heavy sigh. Anders expected to hear footsteps, a door, expected Hawke to leave, but he felt calloused hands touch his own hand and his face. The hardened pad of Hawke’s thumb tenderly stroked his cheekbone. Anders repressed a gasp, fought to feign sleep, tried not to lean into Hawke’s rough touch.

“I’ll be right back,” Hawke murmured as if Anders could hear him. His beard bristles rubbed against the mage’s cheek and then almost reluctantly, Hawke left for the water closet.  
As soon as the door shut, Ander’s eyes opened. What in Thedas could that have been? He must have known, Anders decided. Hawke must know that Anders was faking and he was playing a game. He clenched his fists and teeth, infuriated and ashamed.

The door opened again. Hawke came into his bedroom. Anders caught his eye and Hawke stopped in his tracks. One could physically see the grin wrestle its oppression on Hawke’s face and he turned and called out, his voice cracking, trembling, shaking with mirth. “Bodahn! Make those meals doubles!” 

Hawke spun back around, advancing towards Anders. His milky brown eyes betrayed his stoic demeanour as they radiated relief and happiness. He sat back down in his chair, but his fingers were itching to touch. He coughed delicately to try to calm himself down. Anders watched him suspiciously, his eyes never straying.

“So you’re all right then, are you?” Another cough, gruff. “I didn’t know if I should be waiting for you to wake or rot.”

Anders stared coldly. The happiness in Hawke’s eyes flickered.

“How much is my life worth to you?” It was asked metallically, flatly. Anders was frustrated by his confusion and all he wanted to know was why. “I’d imagine less than 50… No, that’s giving me too much credit. Less than 20 silver, I’d wager.”

“Anders, what are you-“

Are you going to force me to owe you my life? So I can take your abuse with a smile and a ‘Please sir, may I ‘ave some ‘or’?” He pushed himself up and winced. His pain fuelled the fire. “Will I be scuttling about this place, chirruping ‘Ser Hawke’ this and ‘Ser Hawke’ that? ‘Ser Hawke, Ser Fenris is at the door, shall I make tea while you kick me about, yes ser, please ser, thank you ser’.” 

Anders spat venom, crossing his arms defensively. He was half praying for Hawke to toss him out on the street, he didn’t need to be here anymore, he was never meant to be here in the first place, he was here for convenience, and there was no warmth in Hawke’s heart for mages enough to house one, to keep one and the places where Hawke had touched him when the man thought he was asleep was burning and he didn’t know what it was burning with, so angry, so mad, Hawke was so beautiful and it hurt so much being here and he breathed out loudly, rough, in the back of his throat to keep the painful lump from forming, he wouldn’t cry the hot tears in front of his, this, bastard and Justice was laughing, happier than Hawke at Anders’ pain, a gleeful I told you so reverberated in his cerebellum and his lip quivered and another breath and his stomach hurt and Hawke stood up and sat on the bed and looked at Anders, no, no, the last thing he needed was his pity.

“Anders.” Hawke’s gruff voice. “You know none of that is true. You know that.” Never breaking eye contact. “You… Your life is worth more to me… You are powerful and I need that power.” Hawke finished, nodding slowly to himself as if making sure his statement made sense. 

“Ah yes,” ever cold, “Maker forbid you lose your commodity.” 

“Yes. Maker forbid that I lose you.” Hawke was solemn, still not breaking eye contact. He placed a heavy hand on Anders’ broad shoulder. Anders shuddered lightly, convinced it was a flinch. “You need not worry about ‘paying me back’, or whatever you were on about. Self-important fool.” Hawke rolled his eyes.  
“I’m certain you expect something to gain from this.”

“Somewhat. From now on, I…” Hawke trailed, slightly furrowing his brow. “After much thought, I have decided that you need to come on the less important missions, like delivering trinkets and such. Feel free to roll around in Darktown as much as you please. I just can’t have you on the ones that matter.”

“What?” Anders was dumbstruck. This surprise was rivalled only by Hawke’s request three years ago. “Hawke, I’ve been with you through the Dark Roads. Me, you, Varric, and…” Anders paused, not wishing to say her name, not willing to re-open Hawke’s wound. “We slew a dragon and ogres together, literally fighting for our lives, something I’ve done much more and for far longer than you have, and… You’re basically telling me to sod off.”

If Hawke was affected by Anders’ small speech, he didn’t show it. He waved his hand in the air and said, “I simply can’t have it. I’m not strong enough with you around.”  
Anders visibly rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Maker, Hawke, if you honestly think that’s true, then why wouldn’t you need a healer, hardly touching the mage aspect!”  
“No.”

“Hawke.”

“From now on I’ll be taking Fenris, Aveline and alternate Varric and Merrill.”

Fenris, eh? What a shocker. Anders rolled his eyes again, sucking and pulling his bottom lip like taffy. “The psychotic elf, General man-hands and Pinky or bloody Perky. Andraste’s tits, Hawke, you’d choose Fenris over your own sister.” 

Hawke’s eyes flashed a mixture of anger and hurt. “She had the taint, mage.” He gripped the side of the bed. “And I would never choose Fenris over anyone so close to me.”  
Anders could tell how he was making Hawke feel, and it brought him and Justice a sort of sick pleasure. “Oh, go on. Although that is right, I wouldn’t expect Fenris to be anywhere but under you.” That brought a wince. “I know she had the taint, and if it weren’t for you she could have lived and had become a Warden-” Anders didn’t know he had crossed the line until Hawke shot up from the bed, terrifyingly tall, dark, angry.

“What, like you? She could have become a Warden just like you. And then what? She would have died alone in the Maker damned Deep Roads. Exactly how she did. Fucking prick; but of course, she could have lived! She could have lived with the constant nightmares, demons coming after her, sleepless nights, slow deterioration of her brain and her body, dying young and never having children, never truly being happy, just like you, Warden. Torn and ravaged by darkspawn, made into some sort of broodmother churning out more of those bloody things! I would never see her again, none of us would and you would be sitting here telling me that I should have let her die because that would have been easier. It may have been selfish of me, not being able to bear my life not knowing if she was safe and trying to accept that she will die younger than I will, to know that her life was in constant peril and not being able to do anything about it but it’s better for my sanity to do that once than twice, it’s better knowing she’s safer dead than alive.” Hawke caught his breath slowly, but he wasn’t done yet. 

“It’s so easy for you to suggest such a thing to me because you don’t believe you have anyone that cares about your well-being! You probably think that it would have been easier for Bethany because she has her family! Well, even though she would have had us, let me tell you something.” Hawke jabbed his index finger at Anders, his lips were pulled back in a snarl. “For me, it is just too damned hard to accept that you are going to die someday, let alone sooner than me. My mother would only have one Warden to worry about but I would have two, because for the past couple of years, I’ve already had one. You don’t get it at all, I’m not strong enough with you around because if those un-dead got one more swing in, you would have been dead! And I would be lost. I can’t bear to put you in any more danger than you’re already in and this,” he gestured loosely to Anders’ bandages, “is already all my fault. I am not strong enough. I simply cannot deal with it. I thought I could, but there has already been so much death…!”

Hawke showed his great sorrow in the form of violent anger, evident by the way he struck out his fist and drove it into the table. The wood creaked, splintering slightly, but didn’t give way. Everything else on the desk jumped and rattled.

“Oh, my.” A third voice, Bodhan’s, came from the doorway. He was holding a platter with two separate meals on it. He stared, going back and forth from the table to Hawke to the mage in the bed. “Shall I return at a later time, ser?”

“No, no.” Hawke withdrew his fist and relaxed himself, spreading out his fingers and clenching them again. There were small pops and a crunch. “It’s all right, Bodahn. Thank you for bringing this up to us.” Bodahn entered the room and set the platter on the splintered table. 

“If you need anything, sers, you know where to find me or my boy.” Bodahn smiled at Anders and at Hawke, albeit a worried smile, and exited the room.

A loud silence filled the room, set aside only by Hawke’s breathing. 

Hesitantly, Anders spoke. “Hawke, I didn’t mean to insult you…” That was a lie; there was malicious intent behind the words that sent Hawke into a flurry. Hawke snorted in response, knowing full well the truth.

“Okay, maybe I did intend to insult you. But I never intended for it to escalate so high.” Anders touched where he was bandaged up. Being unable to be woken up and with no more mana, Anders couldn’t have jolly well patched himself up as he normally does. It was, in fact, Hawke who stitched him together. With a little bit of Leandra’s help, of course.  
“I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Honestly, I wouldn’t have expected such hospitality coming from you.”

Hawke sighed. He softened a bit after calming himself down. He sat back down on the bed where he was. “I know. I… I can be pretty horrid to you, can’t I.” This wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, spoken more to himself than to the bed-ridden apostate. 

Anders said nothing. He was still very suspicious of all of this. Hawke had never shown him anything but the utmost cruelty, yet here they were in Hawke’s estate, practically comforting each other. Anders would have given anything for something like this to happen between Hawke and himself, but now that it was happening… It almost felt wrong. He was so used to being trodden upon, going for this long without a biting jab or disregard made him uneasy.

Then he remembered what Hawke had winded down upon, the last few sentences he had spoken before Bodahn came in.

He and Hawke made eye contact, the shore met the sand. “Hawke… Would you really be lost if I hadn’t made it out of that cave?”

For a second, Hawke looked embarrassed and annoyed. He opened his mouth to say something like ‘No, you imbecile,’ but instead he took a very deep breath.

“Anders… For the past 4 years or so, the fear of losing you has hung over my head and has been crawling up and down my neck. For all that I’ve done in Kirkwall; I’d leave it in a heartbeat if you were no longer here.”

Anders swallowed hard. This couldn’t be happening; he must be dead or dreaming. “What of Fenris,” he asked stupidly, thickly.

“He’s my closest friend and confidant. He’s one of the only people I can relate to, at least personality wise. We both require space, but crave an end to loneliness neither one of us can describe…”

“Why do you not fear losing him?” Dancing around the real question, but both knew the meaning.

“I cannot say that I don’t. But he is my friend. We protect each other with our lives, quite literally… But with you, I risk my heart and soul.” Hawke said this with no hesitation and very seriously, maintaining eye contact with the blond. 

“You treat me as he does,” Anders argued softly, wanting so badly to believe the man spilling out his heart.

“I treat everyone as he treats you,” Hawke shrugged. “I tell him when he has said something too offensive towards you. He respects how I feel about you.”

Anders was beginning to get flustered. He was extremely confused even though it was being spelt out in front of him. “But you… You…!”

“I love you.” Hawke said it so simply, as if he had been saying it to the other man all along. But somehow, in Hawke’s mind, he had been. Ever since the Deep Roads. Very subtle was he in his appreciation, obviously too subtle. “I love you like I have loved no one else.”

“You act as if you hate me!” Anders found his voice. He still couldn’t believe any words that were coming out of Hawke’s mouth.

“Hate you? No. I admit I act as if I don’t care for you, but never hate. And still, I act that way because… Well, it wouldn’t be any boon if I acted any other way. You still come with me on missions. You still fight to keep me and yourself and whoever else is there alive. If anything I would think a confession of love would make you keep away from me.”

Anders couldn’t deny that was true. He knew Hawke understood the dangers of living with an apostate. There could never be true co-dependency or independency. The apostate relies on their care-taker or on themselves, and most prefer not to be a burden on anyone but themselves. 

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I’ve always had means to tell you. But like I said before, it’s hard for me to think of you accepting me, as pitiful as that sounds… And, of course, you never asked until now.”

The fact that all of this was starting to make perfect sense was beginning to infuriate Anders. The fact that Hawke was so nonchalant about this defining moment in both of their lives was only adding fuel to his fire.

“Hawke, you’re a real fucking asshole.” Anders said flatly. “I don’t know how you can pull all of this off and act like it’s nothing! I don’t know how you can think any of this is okay to do all at once!”

Hawke shrugged again. “I love you.” He moved closer to Anders on the bed.

“Fuck you!”

“I love you.”

“You don’t even know how I feel!”

“I love you.”

“Do you expect me to drop everything and tell you I love you back?”

Hawke pressed his nose against the other’s. “Not at all. I’d expect you to pout for a while and then-“

Hawke was cut off by Anders grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him ferociously. 

“You have… no idea… how much I hate you,” Anders growled between kisses.

Hawke made no attempt to reply, aside from smirking against Anders’ lips as they kissed each other passionately, making no attempt to hide from the other just how much need they held for each other.

They didn’t stop until Hawke was hovering over Anders, pinning him against the pillow by his shoulders. They would have gone farther if Anders hadn’t begun to wince in pain.  
“Your wound,” Hawke said in concern, albeit breathily.

“After all that, I believe I’m well enough to try to fix myself.” Anders was impatient. He lifted his shirt above his belly and focused his magical energy. He waved his hand over the stitched gash. He felt some relief, but it wasn’t healed all of the way.

“I must have been cut very deep,” Anders wondered aloud.

Hawke’s expression was slightly downcast as fresh memories of frantic stitching and blood gushing arose. “Yes. You were.”

Anders looked up at Hawke. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Hawke leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Don’t make me do it again,” he warned.

“I won’t,” Anders smiled. Smiled! What a concept! This was like meeting a completely different Hawke for the first time. It was surprising how easy it was for Anders to pull Hawke out of his mean little shell. It was like reaching into a bag of razor blades and pulling out a teddy bear.

The two shared a fond silence before the question begged at the door.

Anders cleared his throat. “So, erm… What does this mean? Are we…?”

“Together?” Hawke finished the question, furrowing his brow. “Yes… and no. I would rather we keep our personal lives very hushed. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“As much as I want to be with you…” Anders sighed a little. “I have to agree. It’s not worth it to rush into something that could get us both in trouble.”

“Or worse,” Hawke agreed. “Bear in mind that you are welcome here at any time. I would like it if you stayed at least until tomorrow… Then if you feel well enough, you can go back to your little hovel. I’m sure they miss you there.”  
“Hawke…”

Hawke only gave a small smile in return.

“What about Aveline and Varric and…”Anders expression darkened ever so slightly, “Fenris? Should we not tell them?”

“Our friends are more or less intuitive folk,” Hawke stroked his beard. Anders was surprised to hear the first nice thing Hawke’d ever said about their band of merry miscreants. “We can let them figure it out for themselves.”

Hawke dipped his head for yet another kiss.

“One more question, Hawke?”

“Yes, hurry up, food’s getting stale.” Hawke pulled away from his new lover and fetched the plates Bodahn had brought in, serving Anders first.

“You know I am an apostate. Keeping our relationship a secret for now will help, but…” He left it hanging in the air; the dreary implication could almost be tasted.

Hawke sucked on his spoon. “It’s no different than going on missions. I would gladly die protecting you, whether it is from darkspawn or Templars.” He had a far off look in his eyes when he finished his sentence. He was remembering the person he had tried so desperately to protect but failed in the attempt. The person who haunted his every waking and sleeping moment – Bethany.

Hawke looked up suddenly, right at Anders. “I will protect you. I will protect us.”

Anders smiled. He ignored that Justice was now rumbling on about how he thinks Hawke will be detrimental to the cause, that Hawke is a distraction, and that this all just isn’t a very good idea. He ate some of the best food he’d had in ages, gently joking with the man he’d loved for so long, cherishing the moment where for once, he was happy. He was content with his life and his choices when he accepted Hawke’s feelings towards him as genuine. He wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. 

Although Anders was still bed-ridden, Hawke stayed in that room with him all day, entertaining his mage, acting playful towards each other. Anders told Hawke stories of his time with the Hero of Ferelden, Hawke begging for more details.

Their day ended with arms around each other, whispered loving words and affectionate strokes, the Fade beckoning them to sleep.


End file.
